


Child of Merry-go-round

by Akheloispione



Series: Small written thoughts [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: About Flowers and Carousel, About Time, Gen, Matter on Life and Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akheloispione/pseuds/Akheloispione
Summary: Seed, bud, flower, breeding ground.And the Merry-go-round of Time always turns.We think understand but when it is, it's already too late.Anastasia, an ordinary child of this world, will find out.





	Child of Merry-go-round

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !  
> Here, it’s my first works. I beg you to be indulgent !  
> It’s a short story of my creation.
>
>> Viz : Several challenges are noted here.  
> \- The challenge to publish and show others my writings.  
> \- And the challenge of writing a short story with a twist plot at the end and a kind of morality (rather a message).
> 
> I hope you like it. Good reading ! 

> Universe : Small written thoughts ([fr] Petites pensées écrites)  
>  Part 1 : Child of Merry-go-round ([fr] L'enfant du Manège)

  


_For some, Anastasia doesn’t exist yet. For others, she has always existed as a dream in the heart of her parents. A dream that has existed since the birth of humanity and that is continually reborn in the humans’ heart._  
_And today, the dream will blossom. It's been nine months since this dream waits in its state of bud to become a flower._  


 

> After so much effort from the mother and so many prayers from the father, the newborn doesn’t rejoice at his coming into the world. No, it produces a strange sound : a scream of agony. And after the shrieks, the tears follow each other. After a few words and a few soothing circles, as if nothing had happened, the baby calms down.  
Why is he crying ? This common behavior, although not always universal, has always fascinated Anastasia. She has always questioned herself and the answers she has received, from scientists and psychiatrists, don’t satisfy her. She knows there was something deeper behind, a reason behind this reaction. But she doesn’t allow time enough space to answer him. And he, despite everything, he continues to pass anyway, as many times as necessary.

 

> In her childhood, on the weekend, Anastasia’s parents took her to the neighborhood park. All her worries flew away to this place. Delineated by barriers, the park possessed a green and fresh grass, and many varieties of flowers. There were a multitude of people, an abundance of stories.

An indescribable face –with no marks as if time had no grip on it– chose bystanders and, with a kind of paint, drew lines on their faces and painted masks to children. And they were laughing. It was going to be something else when you have to remove that makeup. But just for now, they relished the moment.

Two twins, hand in hand, were dancing in an endless round.  
One person was trying to give someone what another else had brought him. She picked up the crying child, handed him a flower and guided him to the carousel.  
And many people wore the mask of anonymity.  
But in this park, they all shared the dream of growing their favorite flower.

In the center of the park, there was a carousel. And when Anastasia climbed on it, she escaped and imagined lives. And reality came back when the carousel slowed down. Nevertheless, her gaze never saw the carousel stop since every week, this dream came alive.

Anastasia’s eyes were shining in front of this little world full of beauty that was repeated every Sunday. She could give birth to the growth of her dreams. As many times as she wanted.

 

> The adult who has become today Anastasia finds that the carousel is no longer of her age and that she has no time for such futile things.  
Yet the carousel circles as much as the clock after which Anastasia runs.  
She doesn’t even have time to look at the flowers in the park.  
No, Anastasia doesn’t have time. Her work, her social and family duties are far too important.  
Yet, the flowers of the park are magnificent and beautiful today ; they are full of life and laughter. They carry the radiance of those who turn around the carousel.

Sometimes, from afar, she watches the carousel rotate and images fall before her eyes. All that remains in this anamnesis is remorse and regret, immovable and immutable. She gives a glance of superiority to the children. After all, they play in a place where the flowers will rot one day or another, the carousel will eventually stop and these strangers will die. Everything is ephemeral. This place is a prison that locks us in useless but nobody, inside the park, doesn’t seem to see the bars of this cage. No one.

Anastasia continues to flee, still having the strength to run. She tries to catch the dream that’s ahead of her but what really makes sense is, alas, behind her.

The brain of the adult takes more and more space on the heart of the child.

 

> Henceforth, Anastasia is no longer as young as in the past and age has taken its invaluable brush to alter her face. She’s still lying in this room. She has been in this retirement home for a few years now.  
Sometimes she would like to revisit the carousel of her tender childhood but pain is present in each of her movements. She no longer has the strength. Just enough to force a smile. She still lives and everyone tells her that it's a miracle to live that long. But often -and increasingly- she thinks it's just a curse. She can’t bear any more.

The silhouette in medical attire leaves the room after doing his work and announces « See you tomorrow, Madam ». Anastasia looks at the window where, under the rays of the sun, slowly disappearing, a vase offered by her relatives whose flowers are dried -good to throw away. In a long sigh, Anastasia closes her eyes for another moment, a second –a wink, a blink. She doesn’t know when she definitively closes her eyes, in her last breath.

The carousel always rotates. And the light of this room has remained ; the spark of life has gone forward.

 

> Suddenly there’s a burst at the bottom of a deep hole, a light at the end of the tunnel.  
And everything changes.  
The environment is quiet, almost silent and light passes lowly, its muffled rays gently illuminating this place of warmth where we float in a feeling of lightness, freedom and security. It seems like an eternity.  
And everything changes.  
The world turns into a blinding din, where it’s so cold and a damning burden weighs on the young baby’s shoulders. In her discomfort, Anastasia then opens her eyes and finds herself facing the unknown, with shapes and a silhouette in medical attire. But the worst is yet to come. She remembers. She understands.

In front of the distress which invades her and the memories of her ancient life which overflow, she feels the need to free herself from this weight. She decides to take a deep breathing, a great respiration to relieve herself. The air particles fill her baby's lungs, for the very first time in his new life.  
But this aspiration brings no anesthesia to all this sorrow and grief. All the pain of these vestiges seized her soul and took away her body. She finally cries her suffering and tears follow as if to expiate her fault.

In a park, not far from the hospital, families, couples, bystanders, strangers play around a carousel, in the middle of flowers.

Anastasia decides not to forget the face of her old life. Never. The people of her past and everything she lost deserve to be remembered at least. Anastasia closes her eyes for another moment, a second –a wink, a blink– but already the smile of those she loved and cherished is already erasing from her memory.  
When her sight acclimates to her new life and she sees the faces of her new relatives, Anastasia forgets her previous life as an ephemeral dream that fades to give away to the next. Like the flower opens, offering cruel perfume, terrible colors, a painful remedy, a sweet poison and which ends up fading in silence under the whispers of the clock hands.

The carousel still turns, following to the rhythm of the clock hands.

The infant suddenly cries and then calms down just as quickly. Why was he crying already ?

 

_Everything is just a cycle. Everything is going in circles._  
_Everything opposes and assembles. Everything is pushing back and embracing._  
_Fire and water. Earth and sky. Walls and footbridges. Seasons. Eclipse._  
_Shadow and light. Link. The good and the bad. Chain. Life and death. Cord._  
_Love, hatred and loneliness. Rope. Gain and loss. Link._  
_All and part. The essential and the detail. Renewal._  
_Rebirth awaits each one of us, one way or another._

**Author's Note:**

> My first work... \\(*^*)/ So many things to say...
> 
> Please, don't forget to leave a comment to express yourself (on your impressions, on your emotions, on your opinions).
> 
> I hope to see you soon !


End file.
